


Siren

by AdventTraitor



Series: Siren's Song [2]
Category: Magi: The Labyrinth of Magic
Genre: F/M, Sinja, fem!ja'far
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-13
Updated: 2014-08-13
Packaged: 2018-02-12 23:23:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2128341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AdventTraitor/pseuds/AdventTraitor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel set several years after "Misunderstandings."  A group of criminals from Sinbad's past make trouble in his newly founded country and kidnap his queen--immediately, he gives chase to save his defenseless wife.  But though Ja'far herself may not yet know it, she doesn't need as much saving as he thinks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Siren

**Author's Note:**

> It isn't completely necessary to read the first part of this series, but it helps. In case you didn't, Ja'far did not become an assassin in childhood, but was just an orphan on the streets. I think this will be a two or three part story. We'll see yet.

The seas were rough and angry that day, the wind rustling through the trees and knocking against structures as though a storm were imminent, despite the clear sky and warm temperature. It made Sinbad uneasy as he stood on the balcony connected to his own office, overlooking his beautiful country. It had only been three years since its foundation, but already it was the bustling trading center of the south, perhaps even more prosperous than Balbadd due to its recent upheaval in politics. The warmth of knowing his people were happy and his country strong always made Sinbad smile, though it waned somewhat due to the anxiety the strange weather brought about. Perhaps it was the superstitious sailor within him, but he felt the need to go check on how things were going; perhaps then, he could sit down and finish the work in neat piles on his desk, courtesy of his lovely wife.

He stretched his arms over his head, flicking his head to the side to move the purple strands trying to get in his eyes as he moved down the hallway, listening to the sounds of the clerks bustling about and filing away the finished work, only to grab the next scroll and begin all over again. Paperwork wasn’t his calling, certainly, though he knew its importance and steeled himself to spend several hours a day at his desk, reviewing and rewriting and resubmitting various laws and ideas and proposals, finishing and feeling somewhat accomplished…though never quite as satisfied as he was after a good sword fight, a contest in which he wasn’t guaranteed victory.

Sinbad sighed and moved to the grounds outside the palace, searching for Ja’far. Such thoughts would only get him in trouble; he was a king now, not a sailor, not an adventurer—he belonged in his country, with his people. And though he wouldn’t trade them for the world, the lack of excitement in the day-to-day activities made it difficult for him to focus on the tasks at hand.

He spotted Pipirika in the gardens facing the sea, one of Ja’far’s favorite spots to read and occasionally finish up her work, though there wasn’t any sign of her at the moment. He frowned, walking up to the Imuchakk woman.

“Is Ja’far around?” he asked, knowing that wherever Ja’far was, Pipirika wasn’t far behind.

Pipirika turned to him, bowing her head immediately. “No, Your Majesty. The Queen went to the third district in the Merchant’s quadrant to oversee its expansion earlier, but she was supposed to be back by noon to finish up the latest ratifications to the taxation policies…nobody has seen her return, so I had hoped she snuck in and was taking a moment for herself in the gardens…but she’s not been here, either.”

The odd sensation of anxiety churned a little faster at this knowledge, though he knew that Sindria was one of the safest places for anybody to be. He had known Ja’far was leaving to go into the city, but he hadn’t noticed how late it had gotten; it had to be at least four hours after noon. He wasn’t entirely sure what was so important about the changing of the wording to their current taxation laws, but Ja’far hadn’t been able to stop talking about it for a week now—there was no way she would just forget about it or blow it off. At the same time, she had a bad habit of letting time get away from her when she was focused on a particular project, especially one as encompassing as the new layout for an entire district…

“Right.” Sinbad had a concerned look on his face, but he chose not to let the odd weather influence his decision making processes, even as a gust of wind nearly took his turban. “I will go down to the merchant’s quadrant and find out where she’s gotten off to. Please inform Drakon and Yamuraiha that I will be late for the meeting we had scheduled.” Drakon would likely be annoyed, as it was difficult to get all of the highly ranked officers in the military as well as the top magicians together at the same time, but it couldn’t be helped. If Sinbad arrived as he was, he wouldn’t be able to pay attention to a single word.

Pipirika bowed once more, turning and moving back toward the palace as she hurried to carry out her orders. Sinbad turned and moved toward the city, worrying the inside of his lip at the strangeness of the day. He’d barely made it to the open gates of the palace when the wind picked up again with a vengeance, causing him to pause in his steps, grabbing on to his turban with one hand and the hilt of his sword with the other. Once it died down again, he moved more quickly toward the city, taking a shortcut through a residential area where the people waved and shouted greetings at him. He responded kindly, though he kept moving at a brisk pace.

Once he was in the bazaar that led up toward the merchant’s quadrant, he could see that there was something incredibly wrong. His first clue was the absolute lack of people; the bazaar should have been packed at this time of day, but even the merchants were missing from their booths. Sinbad took a deep breath and began to run, only to stop short when he entered the first district.

The place was an absolute wreck; there were merchants and bystanders alike on the ground, though as he moved to them with shock on his face, Sinbad noticed that the majority were still breathing; beaten up a bit, but nothing that would cause too much damage. The same couldn’t be said for the buildings and booths that now had pieces strewn across the ground, goods and merchandise broken and useless. The guards whose stations had been at this district were also unconscious on the ground; no surprise, then, that word hadn’t reached the palace earlier.

Though Sinbad was concerned and incredibly worried about all of his citizens, he was looking for curly white hair wherever he went—Ja’far had no training or experience in fighting of any kind, aside from whatever methods of self-defense she’d picked up in the slums he’d taken her from. He hoped against hope that she was laying here with the rest of the people that had been unlucky enough to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, but something told him that nothing was ever quite that easy.

“M-Majesty…” a voice called out, causing Sinbad to turn, moving quickly to the man whom had called out.

“Are you alright?” Sinbad asked, moving a broken board off of the man and helping him sit up.

“Your Majesty,” he coughed, putting a hand to his mouth. “I…I’m so sorry…”

Sinbad grit his teeth. “What happened here? Why is everyone unconscious?”

The man looked up at him with dazed eyes, blinking and trying to focus. “Some kind of magic, I think…there were three of them, three magicians…all in dark robes. They attacked, destroyed all the buildings…but they, they…” he coughed again, to which Sinbad patted the man on the back. “They came for the Queen…”

The blood ran cold through Sinbad’s veins, though he quickly directed the initial terror and anger toward thinking clearly and processing what must be done next, as he had done many times in previous dire situations.

“I assume they aren’t still around,” Sinbad murmured as he looked at the destruction around them. “They’d have attacked, or named their terms by now…” Golden eyes narrowed as he thought about how defenseless Ja’far would be at that moment, and he faced forward again with cold determination in his gaze. “These magicians,” he addressed the merchant before him once again, “were there any defining features about them, or any symbols on their robes?” The first course of action after being attacked was always to find out who your enemies were, so that defenses could be made and counterstrikes could be calculated.

“They…” he began, though another coughing fit took him before he could continue. “Red…red insignias on their staves…kind of like a spiral mixed with a cross,” he wheezed, earning a sympathetic look from the king.

“Thank you.” Sinbad spoke with sincerity and determination in his voice. “Please stay here; I’ll have the military come through and help all of you, and get the mess cleared up. It won’t take but a few minutes before they arrive; please try not to hurt yourself.”

Sinbad moved just as briskly out of the bazaar, calling for aid and getting them to the wreckage as he got himself back to the palace. From the merchant’s description, he knew exactly with whom he was dealing; a crime syndicate whose base was on an island close to Sasan. This particular gang had been causing the country no end of strife until Sinbad had put what he thought had been an end to their misdeeds. Apparently he’d missed a few, and finally they’d come back for revenge.

So be it, if this was how they chose to get back at him; he’d hit them a thousand times harder, and this time, he wouldn’t miss a single one. They were nothing compared to the likes of Al-Tharmen—and thank Solomon above it wasn’t them making such a brash move against him.

The palace doors opened before him, and he moved immediately to his chambers to switch out his clothing for something more suited for fighting. He was nearly finished, his mind going over all of the facts he remembered about this particular group, when his doors were opened without announcement. He looked over to find Hinahoho and Spartos in the doorway, their faces grave.

“What?” he demanded immediately, straightening and moving toward his generals. He’d informed Pipirika of the current situation, and she’d run to spread the word to the generals.

“Your Majesty…” Spartos started, looking down when faced with his king’s intense gaze.

“Spit it out,” Sinbad snapped, immediately regretting his tone. “…I’m sorry. I just…what is it?”

“That militia, the crime lords that took the Queen…they left a message.”

Sinbad frowned. “And?” He had assumed they wanted a ransom of some kind; for a queen, it would no doubt be very steep. He would pay no ransom, however, because it would be they who paid with their lives for daring to harm his wife and their citizens.

“They don’t want a ransom, Sin.” Hinahoho’s voice was uncharacteristically quiet as he kept a steady stare at his king.

“What…what did they do…?” Sinbad felt his heart nearly stop, stones of weight suddenly settling in his stomach.

——————————————————————————————————————————————————————-

There were voices, and scraping sounds and the feel of a carriage being pulled by a team of horses. Those were the first things Ja’far noticed as she regained consciousness, though a blindfold kept her from seeing any of her surroundings. She lay still, pretending to stay asleep as she tried to make out any of the words being spoken nearby.

It was a different language, one she hadn’t heard spoken before. None of this boded well, but being unable to discern what exactly they planned to do with her…well, that was perhaps more terrifying than when they’d started their initial attack in the bazaar.

Ja’far cursed herself silently, remembering all the chances she’d had to learn some kind of fighting technique but declining, thinking that she’d never have a use for such skills—she had Sinbad, after all. He was more the brawn, the idea and the motivation, and she the brains and the one who found the ways to make his dream come alive.

Self-sufficient in every way but one. Ja’far huffed in indignation.

“Oh, Her Majesty is awake,” one of the voices laughed, his tone mocking in the common tongue.

There were hands on her then, and she struggled and let out a noise of discomfort before they let go; they’d merely sat her upright.

“White hair on one so young is rather out of place, wouldn’t you agree? Tell me…where are you from?” another asked, this voice getting far too close for her comfort. She leaned away immediately. “I’d like to go there, maybe find a few girls to trade. Hair like that…it’d fetch a pretty penny.”

Ja’far curled a lip in disgust. Is that what they had planned for her? Over her dead body. “He’s going to kill all of you,” she said instead, voice steady.

That caused a raucous laughter from four…no, five different voices around her, quieting down after a few moments.

“Sinbad will try. We’re counting on it. But you don’t need to be quite so hostile, Your Majesty,” one of the men sneered. “We’re not going to trade you for gold. This is purely revenge.”

The carriage stopped then, and Ja’far tensed. Whatever these men had planned, she wasn’t physically strong enough to stop them. She had her household vessel with her—an earring Sinbad had given her years ago—but that only lent her the ability to heal, and would be of no use in any kind of offensive strategy. She couldn’t stop the trembling when she realized just how helpless she was, sitting in a carriage only Solomon knows where and completely at the mercy of men who apparently had a very big grudge against her and her king.

She was lifted by the waist, and immediately began struggling, only to find her hands were bound tightly. She was thrown over a broad shoulder, and the man who held her began to walk.

“Oh, we’re not going to rape you. That’s not classy at all. Though I’m sure that’d get the same reaction from King Sinbad.” One of the men whom had spoken earlier was trailing behind them, speaking to her as if he were discussing the weather.

After a few more minutes of trudging, she was set down on even ground, the binding around her wrists slashed apart and her blindfold pulled from her head. She blinked, disoriented for a moment before she saw the sun setting in the distance, and the men that had taken her standing all around, steps leading down to the dirt behind them. They were at the entrance of some kind of building…just where had they taken her? She could make out the sea in the distance…had they left Sindria?

“That king of yours…he loves dungeons, right?” the one who appeared to be the leader asked. Ja’far merely looked confused. “Too bad he won’t get here in time to save you. You get to perish just as our comrades did years ago—at the hands of the monsters inside of a dungeon.”

Her gray eyes widened in terror, mouth opened in question, or maybe to scream before one of the men gave a harsh shove against her shoulder, causing her to pitch back and hit…

Not nothing. A magical barrier.

She was pulled in immediately, her scream lost in the air rushing by her as she was transported to another world…a dungeon.

It only took a moment, and suddenly she was in a foreign place, underground or…she didn’t know. All she could understand was the unbridled terror at being in such a dangerous place with literally no way to defend herself.

“Sin…” she whimpered, her eyes wide and glossy as she took in her situation.

Sinbad’s stories were one thing, especially when he was so ridiculously powerful that it hardly mattered whether or not he was in a dungeon alone. This…this reality, of being alone and not knowing the first thing about fighting…of thinking this was the end…it was nearly crippling.

One of her hands hit the wall closest to her and she slumped down a little, not even caring about the white curls that obscured her vision. She had no idea what to do, how to even begin…

Her hand curled into a fist. If there was one moral to Sinbad’s tales of dungeon capturing, it was that staying still meant certain death. The way her husband recounted his adventures, the dungeons had a way of forcing you to move forward; you either figured it out and moved on, or you died.

She stood up, straightening her spine to be as tall as she could. She may not have much in the way of strength or battle experience, but she rose high above others when it came to intelligence and foresight. Sinbad had cleared five dungeons in his life thus far; many of the things he said were embellished for entertainment value she assumed, but one thing she could use to her advantage was that in each tale, the dungeon monsters had been rather dull minded and slow—at least in the beginning. If she was going to survive this ordeal, she’d need to move quickly, or more preferably avoid any threats altogether. If she could make it to the treasure room, the djinn might let her leave—even if she was deemed unworthy.

With a breath she hoped was more reassuring than uncertain, Ja’far began to walk forward.


End file.
